


Initiation

by StLeibowitz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Harry, Death Eater Harry Potter, Gen, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13348167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StLeibowitz/pseuds/StLeibowitz
Summary: The Dark Lord requires commitment from his followers. What better way to demonstrate it than by putting the past in its grave?





	Initiation

4 Privet Drive was a perfectly ordinary house on a perfectly ordinary road in the perfectly ordinary Muggle country of Great Britain. The young man – sixteen and dressed all in black – who stood at the start of the walk up to its front door, however, was anything but. Even among wizards, he was special, for the Dark Lord had marked him as his equal before he was even old enough to beg for his life. That lightning bolt scar on his forehead had won him few friends in his house at Hogwarts – Slytherin had forced him to trade on his own merits rather than on his fame. He was grateful for that, and grateful for the friends he'd made there who had given him this chance.

It was summer. The air was warm. The sky was grey overcast, a uniform blanket of clouds. Harry Potter fingered the handle of his holly-wood wand and tried to fight down the butterflies in his stomach. This would go well. Of course it would. It could hardly go any way other than how he wanted it to, because after all – he was a wizard. And the Dursleys? They were just lowly Muggles.

He walked up to the door.

" _Alohomora._ "

The door swung open quietly, scuffing almost inaudibly against the low carpet. He could see into the dining room from where he stood; Petunia Dursley was wiping off a chair at the table, a sour but determined look on her face. How odd it was, to see her doing housework – but then, he supposed that _someone_ had to handle the chores when he wasn't home to foist them all onto. She looked up and paused at the sight of him in the doorway, shocked – but then, he supposed that he must make an odd sight, with a black shirt and black trousers and a black tie, and shined black boots and a black coat that almost fell long enough to be called a robe.

"Wasn't expecting to see you back for at least another week," the woman groused. She straightened and left the checkered rag she'd been using sitting on the table in a pile. "Might as well make yourself useful then, boy. Dinner is in an hour."

It was left unspoken that she expected him to cook it. After all, that had been one of the many chores he'd been made to do. For now, he would humor her. It would be far easier with free use of his magic. The Trace was, after all, a thing of the past, at least for him. It was gone, wonderfully gone, and he was finally free – months ahead of time, too!

His stomach tickled with nervousness as he crossed the threshold, back into the hell he dreaded while at Hogwarts each year and sought to flee from every time he was forced to return. But he was here on business this time, didn't intend to stay, and they couldn't rightly keep him. They didn't have the power to. He had all the power now. It was exhilarating.

"Hello to you, too, Aunt Petunia," he replied. His steps were even and belied none of the nerves he felt; he looked confident. In control. It was a very different look from what he normally wore, and Petunia noticed it too as he passed by the cupboard they'd locked him in every year until he was eleven, and passed by the stairs that took you to the bedroom he'd been jailed in when he was twelve, and walked into the dining room they'd barred him from at mealtimes. "Lovely summer so far, isn't it?"

"What are you playing at?" she demanded, eyes narrowing as he stopped on the other side of the table from her. His hands were still in his pockets.

"Nothing," he answered. "Does turkey sound nice? I know roast turkey is a favorite of yours. Perhaps I could make some scalloped potatoes as well – Dudley enjoys those. And...was it green beans, that Uncle Vernon enjoyed?"

"We have salmon," she responded, now looking _very_ suspicious. "Get to it, boy. I want it perfect."

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and reached into his left sleeve, where his wand holder was, and drew his wand out. With a flick and a wave, he straightened the tablecloth and cleared the top of it off. She jumped back like it was a snake rearing up to bite her. He incanted a few other spells in quick succession, and a full roast turkey, tray of steaming green beans, and plate of scalloped potatoes in a cheese sauce all appeared by magic, plucked from a storage space he'd readied in anticipation of today.

"Dinner is served," he declared.

"You're not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts!" she stammered, but there was no certainty in her voice at all – it was a plea, a desperate attempt to reason with reality and convince it that he was wrong to do this and ought to be stopped. But reality didn't answer to _Muggles._ And he didn't really care if it was wrong anymore.

Harry calmly took a seat at the head of the table. Vernon was in the next room and Harry was facing the door to it. He lounged a little as Petunia watched him in horror – the wizard in the middle of her perfectly normal home, the snake in her Garden of Eden. He waved his wand, almost lazily, and a pitcher and glass appeared on the table before him. He poured himself a drink.

"Pumpkin juice," he explained to her, unprompted. "It's a favorite of mine. Served with every meal at Hogwarts. Is Dudley home?"

"You'll regret this!" she squawked. But Harry only grinned.

"No," he told her, "I rather think I won't. Have a seat, won't you?"

"You _freak –_ "

"I said," he repeated, voice turning cold, "have a seat."

Something about him – his self-assured posture, maybe, or his uncharacteristically commanding tone – finally got through to her, and she pressed her lips together so hard they practically vanished. Without another word she took a seat in the chair furthest from Harry. He waved his wand again, and flatware and cutlery was conjured into existence for her use. She jumped a little at the abruptness of it all.

"Eat," he said, voice thawing. "I figured we could do this one more time. Dinner, on me, before we never see each other again."

She hesitated, but grabbed a knife and fork and began carving off pieces of turkey and shifting them to her plate.

"Is Dudley home?"

"I-I think he might be upstairs."

He nodded. Took another sip of pumpkin juice.

Uncle Vernon stomped into the doorway, a snarl on his fat features, stomach barely contained by the perfectly ugly sweater he wore. His piggish eyes widened in disgust at the sight of Harry.

"You!" he growled.

"Me," Harry replied. He used magic to pull a chair out for him across from Petunia, and smiled at the man who'd beaten him once or twice in his younger years. "Have a seat, uncle. I made you dinner."

Vernon Dursley's eyes flicked to the spread of food on the table and then back to Harry, then back to the food, then back to Harry. His mustache twitched but something about Harry – a certain hardness of the eyes – communicated very clearly to his hindbrain that there was something very dangerous going on here that he didn't quite understand yet. So he shuffled forward the last few steps and warily sat down. He didn't need to be told to help himself. From his girth, Harry could guess that he never did.

Dudley came clomping down the stairs like a humanoid wardrobe or perhaps an oddly bipedal swine about ten minutes later. When he saw his parents eating the dinner Harry had provided, very quietly and very meekly, even he figured out that something was very wrong. He took the chair on the opposite side of the table from Harry. He didn't start tucking into the turkey. His eyes never left Harry Potter, or the wand Harry rested on the tabletop.

"It's been a while since I was last here," said Harry, quite pleasantly. "I'm sure you've all missed me."

"Not for half as long as we'd have liked to," Vernon retorted.

"Have you wondered what I'm getting up to? What I've been doing with my time?"

"No!" Vernon snapped. But Harry was watching Petunia.

"You know about the wizarding world," he said to her. "Maybe you know about some of my options. I've been keeping busy, you know. I've got good prospects. I'm sure you're all proud of me. Ask me what I've been doing."

It was not a suggestion. She swallowed a mouthful of green beans and tried to hide her fear with a polite smile. "Have you found a job, then, boy?"

"I have."

"Good!" Vernon said. He huffed irritably. "Won't have to waste money supporting you anymore. You can look after yourself now, I reckon. Pays enough? You're leaving?"

"It pays well enough, I suppose, but you know me. I'm ambitious, I want to change the world. I took it because it gave me a chance to make a difference," Harry answered. "Political activism – socializing with government officials, attracting donors, running errands. All for a good cause. I certainly will be leaving after tonight, and I'll never see you again."

Petunia had caught on, Harry could see it. She looked ill from the instant he mentioned 'political activism' and he wondered exactly how up-to-date Dumbledore had kept her on how things were going on the other side. Did she know about the brewing war? How the Ministry was desperately trying to cover up the Dark Lord's return? How the Order of the Phoenix was struggling to keep abreast of new developments, as Lord Voldemort's forces began hitting targets both magical and Muggle?

"Even better," Vernon went on obliviously. "It's about time you started making yourself useful. I hope you realize that if it goes poorly you're not to come crawling back to us!"

"I had no intention of doing so," Harry replied. "In fact, I cannot think of any circumstances which'd make me come back here. You spent the first decade of my life making sure I fully grasped how very little you thought of me as human. You locked me in a cupboard for a bedroom and made me do every chore possible when I wasn't trapped there, denied food to me as a matter of routine, and went out of your way to ensure your worthless, stupid bully of a child was spoiled rotten at my expense. I would prefer _death_ to living under your roof again!"

The room had gone deathly quiet. All stared at Harry Potter as he rose out of his chair and stood facing them.

There were so many ways he could go about doing this. He'd learned so many interesting curses while in Slytherin, at the feet of Warrington and Pucey for the Triwizard Tournament and at Nott's feet in the Saturday study groups and then from the house library as needed. It was almost a pity that each and every one of them would result in fast deaths for defenseless, useless Muggles. The Head-Exploding Curse, for example, would be an instant kill on impact. Using the Bone-Removing Curse on their ribcages would give a slightly more prolonged and certainly agonizing result.  _Manus Serpentis_ might be an intriguing choice, as he was sure that without directly informing them of the curse's properties they'd struggle and struggle and struggle against their tightening binding until it crushed the life out of them minutes later, never realizing that it would only constrict if they tried to break free, though they might suffocate into unconsciousness first and escape the pain. But no – it had to be an Unforgivable. And that meant their deaths would be painless.

Excitement and nervousness and anticipation crawled in the pit of his stomach. His wand, for the moment, remained on the table. Once he picked it up there was no going back.

"You lied to the neighbors through your teeth daily, calling me a delinquent and a lazy good-for-nothing when I did _everything._ Your disgusting son and his gang of equally disgusting friends hunted me in the street and beat me in your stead, without consequence – actually, with _praise!_ You – "

"How _dare_ you!" Vernon roared, jumping up out of his seat and moving to charge Harry. _Now_ Harry grabbed his wand.

" _Imperio,_ " he hissed. The light – dim as it already was – went out in Vernon's eyes, and under Harry's direction the man meekly sat back down and folded his hands in his ample lap.

"Dad?" Dudley whined, eyes wide in fear.

"I know that one," Petunia breathed. "The Imperius. That's an Unforgivable."

Harry released his direct control over Vernon after a muttered " _Katalambano_ ," wrapping the man in a numbing, immobilizing shield that held him in place as firmly as a Full Body-Bind Curse would. Helpless. Just as Harry had been at his hands, for eleven years and five summers besides.

When at the end of several months of courting by his Darker housemates he had decided to accept the Dark Lord's offer of peace in exchange for service – to accept the Mark – he had been brought to a cold manor and told that there was an initiation to complete. A little thing, really; just proof of willingness and allegiance. Hardly a problem...for a true Death Eater. He had to cast an Unforgivable on a Muggle. The Dark Lord had a victim selected already, bound and blindfolded and kneeling.

Harry had refused, and instead suggested a different victim. A different _collection_ of victims, in fact.

Lord Voldemort had laughed, and given him his blessing.

"You denied me my heritage," Harry went on, deadly quiet. He repeated the same curse on Petunia and Dudley, binding them in place, blocking flight. "You insulted my parents. You insulted your _sister._ They died to protect me and you told me they were worthless. You hid the fact that I was a wizard from me until a man thrice your size beat down your door and hand-delivered to me my letter to Hogwarts. You stole my wand and locked me in my room until I was broken out by friends. You tried to _beat_ the magic out of me, to make me as worthless as you all are. You are the very _worst_ examples of Muggles. You are _subhuman_. And nobody did anything. You were never punished for any of it. But that's going to change. Right now, as a matter of fact."

Dudley and Petunia watched him in terror. Vernon made a little whimpering noise. Harry smiled.

There were three flashes of green light.

 

* * *

 

4 Privet Drive was a perfectly ordinary house on a perfectly ordinary road in the perfectly ordinary Muggle country of Great Britain. The young man – sixteen and dressed all in black – who walked with his back to the house he'd been abused in, was anything but. And of the Dark Mark hanging in the air high above him like a plague mark...the less said about that, the better.

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like there weren't enough fics where Harry is unironically a Death Eater. Hope you enjoyed it, comments are welcome!


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